The Great Noodle Incident
by TraSan
Summary: One beautiful, Minnesota winter's afternoon, three small boys, one tiger - and a monster. Wee!chester fic. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**The Great Noodle Incident**

**Disclaimer: **I own neither "Supernatural" or "Calvin and Hobbes." Both are simply the best of their kind.

**Beta'd: **With a big thank you to Phx and Muffy!

_Thanks extra to Phx for making me sit on this story while it percolated a bit._

_I played after they beta'd so as usual, all mistakes are mine!_

**Time Line: **February 1989. Dean is 10, Sammy is 5.

**AN: **This fic of unadulterated brotherly schmoop was inspired, in part, by two different fics (unbeknownst to the authors). "A Day in the Sun" by geminigrl11 and "Wicky Wacky Woo" by Scullspeare, both were wonderful examples of what I've been missing – the boys being brothers.

In my review to Scullspeare I said something about curling sounding like Calvinball. When she replied she said Dean would have been awesome at Calvinball. So, girl – if you are reading this…I'm leaving that story to you (hint-hint)!

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The snow forts had actually been Sammy's idea. He'd been practicing his reading by flipping through a pile of comic strips stacked by Pastor Jim's fireplace. 'Calvin and Hobbes' caught his attention and held his fancy, until Sammy was fixated on the idea of snow forts and snowball fights with Dean. That's how Dean found himself outside making ready for snow war after Sunday services.

Dean had acquiesced with just enough cajoling on his little brother's part to make Sammy think he was doing him a favor. It never hurt to let the kid think he owed his big brother one. Now, two hours later their pants were soaked, mittens too, but the snow forts were nearing completion. The younger boy was putting finishing touches on his barricade including buttresses and a lookout window. Dean's had been built for over thirty minutes, giving him plenty of time to work on a few snowmen that would have made the fictional six-year-old inspiration of their outing proud.

"You about done there, kiddo?" Dean asked. He frowned, noticing Sammy had lost his hat. "Where's your hat?"

The younger boy wiped his face with the back of a damp mitten. "I used it to carry snowballs," Sammy replied, sniffling.

"You're supposed to use it to keep your brains in," Dean chastised him, jamming his hat over his brother's head. Bangs and red yarn covered Sammy's eyes and he pushed them both up onto his forehead.

"It's supposed to keep you warm," the younger boy corrected, his forehead scrunching as he frowned. "Brains don't just fall out."

"Yes, they do," Dean insisted. "Look at half the kids on the school bus. You can't tell me they have all their brains."

"Deeean," Sammy said, dragging his name out.

"Or that new lady in church today?"

"Pastor Jim said she had a lazy eye."

"Right," Dean shot back. "Whoever heard of an eye being lazy?"

Sammy rolled his eyes. "Maybe it's just tired," he suggested in an all-knowing tone.

"And you've heard Uncle Bobby ask Dad if he's lost his mind before," Dean reminded him. "Why do you think Bobby's always wearing one?" Hazel eyes opened wide and Dean grinned. He'd hit the mark. Sometimes it was just too easy. "So, keep the hat on, Sammy."

"Okay," Sammy replied sheepishly. He tugged the hat down firmly in the back and over his ears. He frowned, crossing his arms. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me," Dean said with a grin. "I've got brains to spare."

Sammy's scrunched up in concentration, as if he wasn't sure whether to accept his brother's reassurance, but it quickly smoothed out to be replaced by a tentative smile. "Are you ready to fight?"

"I've been ready," Dean replied with a sigh of long-suffering. "You're the one that spent forever getting his fort done."

"It needed a lookout window," Sammy protested. "You're taller'n me."

"That's 'cause I'm older," Dean shot back. "It's a rule." Another eye roll from his younger brother, Dean was on fire. Sun glinted off the snow making for a bright afternoon, and he shaded his eyes with one hand. "On the count of three."

"Wait!" Sammy shouted, running for his fort.

"One!" Dean ran for his hastily created, but sturdy snow wall.

"Wait!"

"Two!" Dean jumped over the barrier, sliding on his belly into the pit.

"Dean, wait!"

"Three!" Dean shouted, rolling onto his stomach and launching his first snowball.

He heard the wet thunk of snow hitting snow and his brother's squeal immediately following. Seconds later a snowball arced overhead, hitting the ground just past his toes. "Did I get ya?" Sammy called.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that, little man," Dean taunted, throwing another snowball.

"Oof," Sam expelled a rush of air when the snowball hit his back.

"You okay, little brother?"

A snowball answered, this one hitting him in the arm. "I gotcha!" Sam crowed.

"Don't get cocky!" Dean quoted. Laughter rippled across the snow from his brother's fortress. Snowballs flew hot and heavy for several exciting minutes. Dean took a particularly hard ice ball to the eye and Sammy one to his cheek, turning it a deeper shade of rosy red. The game ended when the younger boy's lookout window collapsed showering him in snow.

"Brrr," Sammy protested, shivering. He danced about, shaking out his jacket, trying to get the snow out from under his collar.

"Time to go in," Dean said, herding his brother with one arm looped around the smaller kid's shoulders.

"Awww."

The warm entryway into Pastor Jim's home welcomed them inside. Wet boots were lined up in the hall, coats properly hung, and Dean placed their mittens on the cranky radiator in the kitchen. Dean forced his shivering brother into the shower, going downstairs to heat milk for hot chocolate. Sammy bounded into the kitchen as the milk finished warming, pajamas stuck to wet skin, hair still dripping water. He slid through the kitchen in socked feet.

"Don't let Pastor Jim catch you doing that," Dean reminded him.

"I won't," Sammy said, sitting down to enjoy the mug of steaming cocoa on the table.

"You won't what?" a voice asked from the entry hall.

Sammy startled guiltily, his hand shook and hot chocolate spilled over the lip of the cup. "Uh…" He stopped, dropping his eyes to the table. "I'm sorry."

"That's good," Jim said with a hint of confusion in his voice. He turned to Dean, his gaze hardening a fraction. "You need to go outside and knock those snowmen down, Dean."

"Why?" Dean asked, trying and failing to keep a smirk off his face.

"Because as they melt you know what they're going to look like," Pastor Jim said reproachfully, crossing his arms.

"What're they gonna look like?" Sammy asked, wiping half of a chocolate mustache off his face.

Pastor Jim opened and closed his mouth several times as he started to answer, then apparently changed his mind. "It doesn't matter," he said finally, turning his gaze from Sammy back to Dean. "Now, Dean."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. He waited until the minister nodded and walked out of the room before he chuckled. He slipped on his boots, coat, and still damp mittens, then headed outside.

"Dean, wait!" Sammy called, meeting him at the door.

"What?" He paused, the wet yarn on his mitten sticking to the cold metal handle of the screen door.

"You don't want to lose your brains," Sammy said, handing Dean his hat.

Dean smirked, pulling the red hat down tight. "Thanks, Sammy."

The younger boy nodded solemnly, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a tiny grin. "Hurry, Dean. Pastor Jim said we could help make supper."

"Oooh, wouldn't want to miss that," Dean said, with an eye roll.

"I know, so hurry." Sammy shooed him out the door, bouncing with barely contained energy.

Dean smiled, shaking his head. Sarcasm was completely lost on his literal brother. Snow crunched under his feet, squeaking with new crispness as the air quickly cooled. Shadows lengthened and the nearby knobby woods were dark and eerie. A chilling breeze whipped past, burning his cheeks. He zipped his coat all the way up and tucked his chin into the collar.

The three snowmen had hardened slightly, but a few well-placed kicks knocked them down flat. The wind whistled harder, urging Dean towards the farmhouse. He ran, the frigid air burning his lungs, until he stepped inside the two-story home. He kicked off his boots, hung his coat, and took his mittens into the kitchen to place on the radiator again.

He found Sammy standing on a chair by the stove talking as Pastor Jim stirred something in a saucepan. The air smelled of toasted bread and tomatoes. "Dean!" The chair wobbled when Sammy pivoted quickly to greet him. "We're making grilled cheese and tomato soup."

"Sounds good, squirt," Dean said. Pastor Jim turned to look at him. "Need help?" He nodded pointedly at his little brother.

"We've got it under control," Jim assured him. "Why don't you wash up?"

"Yeah, okay."

It didn't take him long to wash and change, but by the time he returned Sam was settled by the fireplace with soup and sandwiches. Jim sat in a large armchair, bowl of soup in one hand, book in the other. He looked up when Dean entered the room. "We decided to have a picnic by the fire."

Dean smiled. As much as he hated when his dad was away on a hunt, Jim or Bobby always made it easier. He didn't have to be hyper-vigilant at all times. It left him more time to just be Sammy's brother, to just be Dean. "Cool."

Supper was followed by checkers, and Dean was forced to admit Sammy beat him once fair and square. It seemed like only moments had passed when Pastor Jim announced it was bed time. After a flurry of teeth brushing and Sammy's whispered prayers, the boys climbed into bed.

"Good night, boys," Jim said, closing the door all but a crack.

"Good night!" they chorused together.

Dean waited, listening as Jim's footfalls disappeared down the stairs. He flipped onto his side, grinning at his brother. "Dad should be home tomorrow."

Twin dimples appeared when Sammy grinned back. "Good. I miss, Daddy." He turned to lie on his side, his head propped up on his arm. The meager light from the bedside table bathed one side of the younger boy's face in a warm, yellow glow, the other remained darkened by shadow. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why does Hobbes look like a real tiger when it's just Hobbes and Calvin, but when anyone else is around he looks like a toy stuffed animal?" Sam asked, his tone and expression serious.

"I dunno," Dean said. He'd never really thought about it before, chalking it up to a gimmick the cartoonist used to give Calvin someone to talk to about kid stuff. "I guess because he's only real to Calvin. He needs a friend to talk to and so Hobbes is real to him."

Sammy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, a sure sign that he was thinking hard about Dean's words. "But, he isn't real when other people are around."

"He still is to Calvin," Dean said. "Now, go to sleep."

The younger boy frowned, his forehead wrinkling and eyebrows pulling in exaggerated consternation. "Because he loves Hobbes?"

"Yeah," Dean said, resisting a sigh. Once Sammy latched onto an idea it was next to impossible to get him to change tracks. "Go to sleep."

Sammy sighed, wriggling down into the bed until only a mop of brown, two hazel eyes, and a sloping nose were visible above the covers. "I think it's because he doesn't have a brother," Sam said, his words muffled by the blankets.

"Go to sleep," Dean said, firmly. He turned off the light and hunkered down into the covers. "Love you too, Sammy," he whispered quietly under his breath. The smile lingered on his face even as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

It was the coughing that woke him.

Sammy had been sniffling earlier, so it was really no surprise to Dean when his brother started coughing with just a hint of a finishing wheeze. He tried to ignore it at first, hoping that Sammy would settle and breathe easier. When it didn't happen, Dean turned on his side facing the younger boy's bed.

The half moon outside was just enough light through the paned windows and sheer curtains to catch sight of a shadowy form kneeling on the other bed. Dean quickly sat up, his brother's name on his lips. "Sammy!"

A head whipped in Dean's direction and two piercing, red eyes glinted angrily at him from the darkness.

_TBC_

………………..…………………………………….**Supernatural**………………………………………………………

AN: On a completely sappy, final, parting thought: Never underestimate the influence you have over the lives of the people you love. Get away from the computer, from your own writing or reading, from the t.v. or the best movies of the year (summer movies rock!) and spend time with those close to you, be it family or friends that are family. You never know when you could be just the thing to make someone's day a little better! So, what are you still doing sitting here? Go. Go!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Great Noodle Incident**

**Disclaimer: **I own neither "Supernatural" or "Calvin and Hobbes." Both are simply the best of their kind. Title 'borrowed' with alacrity!

**Beta'd: **With many, many thanks to Phx who offered me some great feedback and Muffy who kept it flowing smoothly.

_I played after they beta'd so, as usual, all mistakes are mine!_

**Time Line: **February 1989. Dean is 10, Sammy is 5.

**AN: **A horrible realization hit me as I started to write this chapter. In February of 1989 I was a senior in high school. *sigh* I am so friggin' old!

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_It was the coughing that woke him._

_Sammy had been sniffling earlier, so it was really no surprise to Dean when his brother started coughing with just a hint of a finishing wheeze. He tried to ignore it at first, hoping that Sammy would settle and breathe easier. When it didn't happen, Dean turned on his side facing the younger boy's bed. _

_The half moon outside was just enough light through the paned windows and sheer curtains to catch sight of a shadowy form kneeling on the other bed. Dean quickly sat up, his brother's name on his lips. "Sammy!"_

_A head whipped in Dean's direction and two piercing, red eyes glinted angrily at him from the darkness._

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"Easy, Tiger."

Dean Winchester - Pilot

………………..…………………**Something Under the Bed is Drooling**………………..…………………

Dean leapt out of bed, his bare feet hitting cold hardwood floors for just a fraction of a second before he lunged at the thing on Sammy's bed. The giant blue shadow knocked him onto the floor with one backhand of its massive forearm. He panted shallowly trying to catch his breath, and then he was up again, attacking the monster kneeling over his brother.

Long, scaly fingers tightened around his throat. Dean wheezed, his lungs squealing from the effort of simply pulling in air. The older boy's back hit the wall and he hung there, suspended by the hand around his neck. He looked down, frantically squirming to free himself while he attempted to see what was happening to Sammy.

The younger boy wasn't coughing anymore, and Dean couldn't tell if his brother's chest was moving. Sparkles of light in his peripheral vision alerted him to his own need for air and soon. He pressed both feet against the wall, pushing hard with his legs while tugging at the arm holding him to the wall. The creature didn't even break contact with Sammy, it certainly wasted no effort fighting Dean. He wasn't a threat of any kind to the gargantuan.

"Dean," a whispered exhale made it through the heartbeat pounding in his ears. Sammy needed him, and he had never been able to deny his brother when he _really _needed him. The younger boy was dying, Dean was sure of it and after his brother, he would be next. He couldn't be afraid. He couldn't let this thing hurt Sammy.

Panic threaded through his veins and he surged into action with a last ditch effort to free himself. The creature was bent low, stealing air right out of Sammy's lungs. It had completely underestimated Dean, or at least, the reach of his arms. He stretched forward, the pressure against his neck increasing until he could press his thumb into the monster's eye. Hard. It felt a little like a grape.

With an inhuman yowl, the creature released Dean and he dropped to the bed next to his brother. He panted, searching blindly for the switch to the bedside lamp. He had yet to hear Sammy breathe. Dean coughed, his movements becoming frantic with an intense need for light and for help. He needed Pastor Jim. A huge hand wrapped around his ankle as his fingers found the switch. The hand on his ankle tightened, pulling him to the edge of the bed. He found his voice, screaming hoarsely even as he turned on the light.

The hand disappeared with the creature. Dean looked around, his head whipping from left to right as he searched for any trace of the monster. Finding none, he turned his attention to his brother. "Sammy," he pleaded in a rough voice, giving the younger boy a light shake. "Come on, little brother, wake up."

The door banged open and Pastor Jim stood in the empty space, light from the hallway spilling around him into the mostly dark bedroom. "Dean, what happened?" Jim turned on the light and Dean blinked against the sudden onslaught of brightness.

"Something was on Sammy's bed," Dean said. He put a hand to his sore throat. "It was making him cough and it looked like it was - sucking his breath out."

Pastor Jim pinched his eyebrows together with concern, bending down close to Sammy's mouth, his head tilted to look at his chest. He sat up moments later, sighing in relief. "He's okay, Dean." Dean placed a shaking hand down on the bed to steady himself. Two fingers under his chin tilted his head up until he was looking Pastor Jim directly into his brown eyes. He swallowed hard. "Are you hurt?"

Dean pulled back and shook his head. He was shaky, scared for Sammy and himself, afraid of whatever the monster was that had crawled out from under his brother's bed, but he didn't think he was hurt.

"Dean?" a whisper of his name. The older boy sank low to his brother. Sleepy slits of hazel gazed up at him, his brother's forehead wrinkling in confusion. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Did I…?" Dean trailed off, incredulously.

"Then did I?" the younger boy asked, eyes opening wide with remembered fear. "There was a monster under my bed!"

"You were having a bad dream," Jim interjected, running a hand through the small boy's mop of brown hair.

Dean frowned, glaring at Pastor Jim. As much as he didn't want Sammy to know the truth yet, he didn't like the idea of out and out lying to his brother. Fingers twined in his pajama shirt and Sammy hoisted himself to sitting. "It felt so real," he said.

Dean didn't say anything. He scooted until he was sitting slightly behind the younger boy, pulling him back into his arms. With Sammy's back resting against his chest it was a physical reassurance that his brother was breathing and alive. "It's okay," Dean said. "I gotcha."

"Let's get you boys moved into my room," Jim said.

Sammy started to get off the bed, but Dean pulled him back. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes," Jim said, reaching out a hand to the youngest Winchester. The small boy climbed obediently into his arms. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, leaning far over Jim's arm. "Ugh, something under the bed is drooling."

Dean quickly sprawled out across the bed, looking over the edge at the floor. Sure enough, there was a slowly spreading pool of clear fluid seeping out from under the bed. "Now, Dean!" Jim commanded, waving his arm towards the door. "Go!"

He leapt off the bed, making a dash for the door with Pastor Jim hot on his heels. His feet slapped on the runner rug in the hall as he ran for the master bedroom. Jim never invited them into his room. Dean had a sneaky suspicion it was because of Jim's wife, Sarah. She had died long ago. Dad said it was because she was sick. There were times when Jim reminded him of the quiet side of his Dad.

The minister followed quickly behind Dean flicking on lights as they went. When they arrived at Jim's bedroom, Sammy squirmed to get down. "I have to go to the bathroom," he announced.

"Right through that door," Pastor Jim said, pointing.

"Hurry, Sammy!" Dean called unable to help himself. He didn't want his little brother out of his sight, even if it was just to the master bathroom. He took three steps closer to the nearby door and turned to look up at the minister. Dean frowned, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "What was it?"

"I think it was some kind of bogey," Jim said. He straightened the covers on the large queen bed and peeled them back halfway. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Dean tossed a furtive glance at the bathroom door. "It was on Sammy's bed and it looked like it was stealing his breath." Jim nodded. When the sound of running water came through the door Dean finished his recounting at high speed, words slurring together in his haste. "It was big and scaly, strong too. Its eyes were red and it disappeared when I turned the light on."

The bathroom door popped open, but he was pretty sure he heard Pastor Jim whisper something about a bug-a-boo under his breath. Sammy yawned deeply raising his fists in the air in an exaggerated stretch. "Are we sleeping in here?" the younger boy asked.

"Yes," Jim answered, "into bed, you two." With a nod, the five-year-old staggered over to the big bed, climbing inside the covers. The minister wrapped a hand around Dean's arm. "Stay in bed, completely under the blankets, even your heads."

"Pastor Jim?" Dean looked up at the sage man quizzically.

"Just do it, Dean," Jim said. "Don't come out, no matter what. You're safe under the blankets."

"Okay," Dean replied. It didn't make any sense to him, but he would do it if it meant keeping his brother safe. "What if you need help?"

"All the help I need is the knowledge you and your brother are safe," Jim said, concerned brown eyes gazing over him. "Promise me, Dean."

"I promise," Dean said. He crawled into bed beside Sammy, the younger boy immediately curling up closer only to shove cold toes under Dean's legs. "Knock it off, Sammy," he said. His brother didn't remove his offending digits and Dean didn't make him.

"What's going on, Dean? Why are we sleeping in here?" Sammy asked. He yawned again and this time Dean heard the slight wheezing sound on exhale. He hoped, at this point, that it was just a cold.

"Pastor Jim probably thought he'd get more sleep this way," Dean said with a smirk. He pulled the blankets up over their heads.

His chestnut-haired brother smiled wide, dimples sinking into his cheeks. "We haven't done this in _forever."_

Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes his little brother was five going on twenty-five and sometimes he was just a kid. Sammy had always liked when Dean read stories to him under the blankets when Dad was gone. "Yeah, except this time, you owe me a story, kiddo."

Sammy's forehead crinkled in thought, small fingers drumming on the bed. "Once upon a time there were two brothers."

"Sammy and Dean?" Dean asked, grinning as interrupted his brother's tale.

"_Sam _and Dean," the younger boy corrected firmly. "They're all grown up brothers."

"Ah."

"Dean, stop interrupting."

He chuckled, "Sorry, but you're always going to be Sammy to me."

The younger boy frowned in contemplation, then nodded his head. "Okay, but _only _you. Grown ups aren't Sammy or Jimmy or..."

"Bobby?" he interrupted again.

Sammy's mouth, still hanging open from talking, continued to gape while he thought. "Bobby's special," he said, finally.

Dean laughed at that remark. He couldn't wait to tell Bobby how 'special' he was.

Sammy huffed and crossed his arms. "You wanna hear a story or not, Dean?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm in." Dean pulled the blankets down tight around them. He could hear an occasional thump and the scrape of furniture coming from the end of the hall. He wasn't taking any chances.

"Once upon a time there were these two brothers, _Sam _and Dean," the younger boy paused, hazel eyes searching his brother's face as if daring him to interrupt again. When nothing happened, Sammy continued. "They did everything together."

"Oh God, Sammy, not everything," Dean moaned. "A guy has to have some alone time. I mean, eventually, I'd like to be able to use the shower without you busting in to use the toilet."

"That's only 'cause you take too long sometimes," Sammy protested. "It's not like I wanna go while you're in the shower, but sometimes I just really gotta go."

"It's only because your bladder's the size of a peanut," Dean teased. He sucked in his stomach and arched his back, dodging a punch aimed at his solar plexus. "Continue."

"Sam and Dean did _almost _everything together," Sammy said. "Except stuff they'd rather do by themselves. Then one day, an evil monster came out from under Sammy's, _Sam's, _bed. It was big and scary, and tried to eat the little brother."

"I'd never let that happen." Dean looked his brother in the eyes, firmly holding his gaze. "Never."

The younger boy rolled his eyes. "I know. You didn't, I mean, Dean didn't."

"Okay, just so you know."

"I know." Sammy looked so earnest, Dean couldn't help but feel relieved. No matter what his brother thought happened tonight, Sammy still trusted him. "Anyway, the monster tried to eat Sam, but he fought it, kicking and hitting like a, like a…"

"Tiger?" Dean said with a hint of a smirk. Part of an afternoon spent helping Sammy read comic strips had to pay off with more than just a snowball fight, didn't it?

"Yeah, like a real tiger!" Sammy agreed enthusiastically. "Except this monster was too big for Sam even though he was all grown up and almost as tall as his brother." Dean made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. He was rewarded with a Sammy death-glare of annoyance. "So, Dean fought with the monster until it let Sam go."

"And they lived happily ever after?" Dean asked, barely keeping a laugh out of his voice.

"No," Sammy said, shaking his head sadly. "The monster started crying because it didn't know it was being bad and it felt sorry."

Dean raised an eyebrow. He hadn't seen that particular twist coming. "Then what happened?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"The brothers taught it how to be good and the monster lived with them."

"And then they lived happily ever after," Dean said, with a smile.

"No," Sammy said, shaking his head again.

"Ah man, Sammy," Dean said, his tone nearly a whine, "then what?"

"A real monster's always got a little monster in it," Sammy said, a smile tugging lightly on the corners of his mouth. "And one day when it was feeling grumpy it tried to gobble Dean up!" The last part was said as one word, with enough energy and volume to give the younger boy lift-off. Sammy buried his face in Dean's belly, pushing his nose into one of the older boy's most ticklish spots.

Dean writhed on the bed, desperately trying to keep the blankets in place and catch his breath all at the same time. He was laughing so hard, he could barely concentrate on anything else. Sammy was killing him. "Stop, stop," he begged desperately. The tickling continued unabated. "Sammy, please."

The five-year-old flopped back on the bed, panting. "I got you good, Dean."

"Yeah, okay, you got me," Dean said. "Now, go to sleep. Pastor Jim's not going to be happy if we're still awake when he comes in to check on us."

Sammy pushed sweaty bangs off his forehead, yawning, as if the mere mention of going to sleep had tired him out. "Okay." He closed his eyes and miraculously, within minutes, he fell asleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

He wasn't sure how long he slept, but it was still dark in the room when he woke up. It took him a few moments to realize his head was no longer under the stuffy blankets and that Dean was not beside him. Sammy blinked his eyes open, listening. His brother was standing next to someone seated in the rocking chair in the corner. It only took a minute to place the other voice as Pastor Jim.

"There's nothing to worry about, Dean," Pastor Jim said quietly. "It's gone."

That got Sammy's attention. He stayed very still and quiet, not wanting to let the other two know he was awake. Sometimes he learned a lot more when people didn't think he could hear.

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive," Jim replied. "Now, go back to bed before we wake Sammy up. We can discuss it in the morning."

"Yeah, okay."

The mattress sank as Dean climbed back into bed. They lay there in the dark, both breathing slowly and evenly. One feigning sleep, the other trying to get there. Winter wind howled over the top of the house mourning the loss summer. The old house creaked, groaning under the onslaught, but stood firm. Chiming from the grandfather clock downstairs carried up into the bedroom. Cautiously, Sammy reached out, grabbing the hem of Dean's nightshirt.

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean said, sleepily without opening his eyes.

And Sammy did.

………………………………………………………….**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: A big thank you to all who have taken the time to read!

Now, I'm off to tackle the blackberry bush that has taken up residence in my front yard! _Mean little sucker._


	3. Chapter 3

**The Great Noodle Incident**

**Disclaimer: **I own neither "Supernatural" or "Calvin and Hobbes."

**Beta'd: **By Phx and Muffy – both of whom provided invaluable feedback and suggestions. Thank you ladies!

**Time Line: **February of 1989. Dean is 10, Sam is 5.

**Warning: **Family fluff ahead.

_Title borrowed with alacrity!_

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_"Are monsters real?"_

_"What? You're crazy."_

_"Tell me."_

_---_

_"Monsters are real. Dad fights them. He's fighting them right now."_

_"But Dad said the monsters under my bed weren't real."_

_"That's because he'd already checked under there, but yeah, they're real. Almost everything's real."_

_ ~Sam and Dean Winchester, 'A Very Supernatural Christmas'_

……………………**Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons**….………………

"My snowmen are getting your snowmen!" Sammy shouted, "They're winning!"

"Not even in your dreams, Sammy-boy!" Dean's voice rang back.

Snowballs hit the younger boy's snowmen at high velocity, knocking the head off one, completely pulverizing another. "Now mine are launching a full scale attack. Yours are running scared."

Sammy stomped on several of his brother's smaller snowmen. "Crazy monster snow goons attack!"

"Dude." It was the only warning Sammy received before Dean tackled him, shoving them both to the ground. He wriggled beneath the older boy, trying to escape.

"Get off me, Dean!" Sammy tried to sound angry, but he couldn't stop laughing. That was until his brother shoved snow down his collar. "Stop, please!"

"Not on your life, little brother." Dean pushed more snow down Sammy's jacket before standing up. The younger boy's face puckered moments before a resounding sneeze echoed off the barren landscape. "That's it, kiddo, time to go in."

"Aw, Dean, just a few more minutes," Sammy pleaded, "please?"

The older boy shook his head no, then narrowed his eyes in thought. "How about a deal?"

"What?" Sammy bounced on his toes, happy to squeeze a little more play time out of his big brother.

"We could hang for awhile in the barn loft."

"Woo hoo!" The mop-haired boy did a little victory dance, but he didn't miss Dean's eye roll. "Race ya!" He took off at a sprint, hoping to beat the taller boy to the barn door. Sammy heard the loud crunching of snow as his brother ran after him. There was a red and blue blur as Dean ran past him moments before his hands hit the heavy wooden door.

Dean twisted to toss the younger boy a grin. "You gotta be faster than that if you want to beat me, Sammy."

"One of these days I'll be big like you and then I'll be faster," Sammy said, pushing his hat up on his forehead and tucking his bangs under it.

"You wish," Dean said, pushing the door open. The air inside the dim interior was decidedly warmer than outside, the price for admission being the distinctive scent of animal waste, hay, and stale dust. "Hand me your mittens, Sammy."

Sammy peeled off damp mittens, stuffing them into his hat. "Here." Flashing his brother a dimpled smile, he deftly climbed the wooden ladder into the loft. Dean followed closely behind and soon they were settled on bales of hay. He sat on one bale, slowly pulling out straws and bending them into different shapes while Dean lay on his back on another, his eyes closed. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" The older boy didn't bother opening his eyes.

"What's snow made out of?"

"Water."

Sammy frowned. It was cold, but frozen water was ice, wasn't it? "Just water?"

Dean opened his eyes. Rolling to his side, he propped his head on his bent arm. "Water and dirt specks I think."

The five-year-old shook his head. "But they're white."

"Uh, that's 'cause the water cleans the dirt." Dean's green eyes glinted at him in the dim lighting of the loft. "Like when you take a bath."

Sammy thought about it for a bit, then nodded. "That makes sense."

"Of course it does." Dean rolled onto his back, closing his eyes again.

A dead fly on the dusty floor caught Sammy's attention and he tried spearing it with a piece of straw. After several attempts, he finally succeeded. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean cracked one eye open.

"Do bugs fly south for the winter like birds?" Sammy twisted a strand of hay around his finger until the tip turned red and he unwound it.

"No, they just die."

"But Pastor Jim said all those monarchs we saw in the fall were my grain an' stories." He tied the straw he was holding into a knot.

"Migratory," Dean corrected sitting up, "and sure, girly insects like butterflies might fly south for the winter. I thought you were talking about regular bugs." A low rumble sounded over the crest of the hill, interrupting Sammy's next question. "You hear something?"

Sammy stood, brushing hay off his clothes. He tilted his head to one side listening. "Dad's here." A wide grin broke his face.

The brothers hurried out of the loft and out the barn door, running for the house, but even so, the sleek black car edged past them in the final stretch. Their dad was getting his duffel out of the trunk when they caught up to him. "Daddy, you're home!"

"Hey, kiddo," John greeted his youngest, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Sammy returned the embrace, not pulling out when one of his father's arms pulled Dean into their hug. Instead, the boy placed his arm around his brother's middle and squeezed him tight. "Let's go inside where it's warm."

"Okay," the boys replied in unison.

Soon all three were bundled off into Jim's bright kitchen, coats, boots, and mittens discarded along the way. Sammy perched on his father's lap sipping hot chocolate while Dean made peanut butter crackers.

"Everything turn out for you, John?" Pastor Jim asked, taking a seat at the table. He held out a cup of coffee for John.

"Yeah." John twisted in the seat. "Be alright with you if we bunk here one more night, Jim? I could really use a shower and a good night's sleep before trying to drive anywhere."

"Of course, you're always welcome," the minister said. "You don't even have to ask."

Sammy felt the rumble of his dad's laugh through his back which was pressed up to his father's chest. "You should be more careful about offering up things like that," John said. "You just might live to regret that one."

"I highly doubt it," Jim said, taking a sip of coffee.

Dean set the peanut butter crackers down on the table and the brothers started munching. Sammy smacked his lips in appreciation. Pastor Jim always had good peanut butter and the best jam. The younger boy had been in the storm cellar with Pastor Jim one day and he had seen rows and rows of food in jars. The minister had told him it was because many of the ladies at the church liked to share their canned food with him. "This is good," Sammy said around a mouthful of crackers. "What kind of jam is it?"

"Plum," Dean answered, licking his lips. "Your lips are purple."

"Yours, too," Sammy said with a giggle. He washed down the sticky peanut butter with the last of his hot chocolate. "I'm sticky."

"That's my cue," his dad said, sliding the five-year-old off his lap. "Dean, take your brother upstairs and help him wash up."

"I can do it," Sammy insisted. He didn't need help with everything anymore. He was a big kid now.

Their dad leveled a stare at both boys. "Go, Dean. Sammy, listen to your brother."

"Yes, sir," came the duel responses. Sammy ran for the stairs, his brother following close behind.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

After dinner was over, Dean and his dad searched the room where the monster had attacked while Sammy and Jim cleaned the kitchen and played checkers. "I think it hid under the bed," Dean said, pointing to the scratches on the wooden floor. "It was purple and scaly, with red eyes and bad breath."

"Did you turn on the light?" John asked, getting on his hands and knees by the bed to peer under it.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. "It didn't seem to like the light at all."

"No, I doubt it did," his dad said, taking out a flashlight. "Come over here, son, I have something I want to show you." Dean got on his hands and knees next to his father. "You see that shiny spot?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, examining the silvery shimmer under the bed. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Scales stuck in dried drool," John said, shining the light into a dark corner, "and that large dust bunny is actually a hair ball. You can see the purple threads of hair if you look closely."

"Dad, what was it?" Dean asked, sitting back on his heels.

"A bug-a-boo," his dad replied, moving to sit on the bed. "They're a monster that hides under beds or closets and attacks children. The light hurts them and they're relatively easy to kill. Anything that kills an animal will kill a bug-a-boo."

"So, there really are monsters under the bed?" Dean asked, his eyes wide. "I thought they were just stories."

"A lot of things that are myth or stories were told and repeated because they held some grain of truth," John said. "You'd be surprised what's real."

Dean trembled under his skin. "How can we ever know we're safe, Dad? What good's all that salt if things like that can just show up under your bed?"

His dad rubbed a hand over Dean's head, then pulled him into a one-armed hug. "You can count on me, Tiger. I'll keep you and your brother safe and I'll teach you everything I know."

Dean leaned into his father's embrace. "Promise?"

"I promise," John said. "Now, let's get your brother up here and go to bed. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"I'll get him, Dad," Dean offered. He vaulted off the bed, running out the door, and pounding down the stairs. He found his brother still playing with the minister. "Dad said it's time for bed."

Sammy looked up, his hand hovering over one of his checker pieces. "Right now?"

"Now."

"Okay," Sammy sighed. He hurriedly put the checkers back into the box and shoved the game onto the shelf. "Good night, Pastor Jim."

"Good night, boys," Jim said, waving a hand after the boys.

Dean raced back up the stairs; his little brother's stocking feet thudding on the wood behind him. Memories of the night before threatened to resurface, but Dean stuffed them down, confident in his father's ability to keep them safe. One day, he'd be a hunter like his dad and then he'd be able to keep Sammy safe all by himself, but it was comforting to know he didn't have to. Dad was there for them.

"Brush your teeth and then into bed, boys," their dad said. "We've got a lot of traveling ahead of us tomorrow and I don't want any arguing in the car this time."

"Dad, we weren't fighting," Sammy said in the beginnings of a protest before Dean cupped his hand over his brother's mouth and steered him back out the door.

"Yes, sir," Dean said, pushing the small resistant form in front of him harder. "Sammy, move!" he whispered harshly through gritted teeth. The mop-haired boy did move, but it came with an indignant grumbling as he marched down the hall. Dean caught three or four of the faint words and he was sure Sammy owed him one. Dad didn't care about the finer points of Sammy's logic, he wanted peace and quiet in the car.

By the time Dean made it to the bathroom, Sam was using his frustrated energy to work up a foamy toothpaste grimace as he concentrated on his front teeth. "Deemf," Sammy said, spraying white, minty bubbles into the air. He spit into the sink. "Why'd you push me?"

"Because, little brother," Dean explained, "Dad wasn't upset we fought in the car, but he would have been if you stood there arguing with him about it."

"I wasn't arguing, Dean," Sammy said. "I was _correcting _him. We weren't fighting, we were playing army commando."

"It's kind of the same thing," Dean said, shouldering his brother to the side to gain access to the sink.

Sammy's brow wrinkled and he placed his hands on his hips. "I don't see how."

"Just trust me, okay?" Dean asked around his toothbrush.

At those words a wide smile and dimples appeared. "Why didn't you just say so in the first place?" The conversation was apparently over as Sammy pinched him in the side and took off out the door.

"Hey!" Dean rinsed his brush and ran after his brother. He nearly caught up to Sammy, but the younger boy scrambled to hide behind their dad.

"Save me!" Sammy giggled, holding tight to the back of their father's legs.

"No fair hiding behind, Dad," Dean said, making a quick grab for his brother. Sammy twisted away, but it was their dad who saved him, hoisting the five-year-old into his arms.

"I gotcha," John said, hugging Sammy tight. He pulled Dean into a one-armed embrace. "I got both of you." Dean tossed his dad a grin when John released him. He waited until Sammy crawled into bed to join him under the covers.

"Dad, are there monsters under the bed?" Sammy asked, as their dad tucked them in.

"Sammy, there're no monsters under your bed." Dean made eye contact with his dad and frowned slightly. It was one thing to protect his brother from the truth; it was another to almost lie to him.

"Promise?"

"I promise," John said, ruffling Sammy's hair.

Sammy looked over at Dean, his eyebrows pulled in question. "Dad and I checked, Sammy, no monsters." He couldn't lie, but he could be Obi-wan Kenobi for his little brother.

"That's good," Sammy sighed, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

"Lights out, boys," John said, flipping the switch. "Good night."

"Good night, Dad."

"Night, Daddy."

Dean was relieved when his dad didn't go downstairs to talk with Pastor Jim as usual, but instead lay down on the opposite bed. He sighed, allowing his body to relax into the mattress. "Hey, Dean," Sammy whispered quietly.

"Shshshsh."

"Dean."

"What?"

"I feel sorry for Calvin."

Dean groaned softly. Sammy was like a dog with a bone when he became fixated on an idea. He flipped onto his side to face his brother. "Why?"

"Because he's not lucky like me. All he has is an imaginary tiger," Sammy whispered, leaning his forehead on Dean's. "**I** gotta big brother."

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't protest when his brother shoved cold feet under his legs. He punched Sammy lightly on the shoulder. "You're not so bad yourself," he said, "you know, now that you're not drooling and blowing snot bubbles anymore."

"Dean!" Sammy protested in a stage whisper.

"I'm just sayin' when you were younger I practically needed a raincoat to hang out with you."

"Dean!"

"Boys!"

The dark room instantly fell silent. Sammy twisted his fingers in the hem of Dean's t-shirt, closing his eyes. It wasn't long before the even rhythm of the younger boy's breathing told Dean his brother had fallen asleep. "Good night, Sammy," he whispered into chestnut strands and within minutes, Dean joined him.

_Fin_

……………………………………………………………..**Supernatural**……….……………………………………………

AN: This story wraps up the second of the three-pronged writing challenges I created for myself this summer.

One, Forgiveness and Rebuilding: Book of Sins, Tomatoes and Baby Birds, Greatest Strength

Two, Family: Is There in Truth no Beauty? and The Great Noodle Incident

Three, Everyday Heroes: Geek Squad and Knight in Shining Armor

To those of you who humored me this summer (by reading) thank you! Prongs one and two are complete. :)

Unfortunately, with the writing obligations I currently have, and the busy season quickly approaching at work, the two additional 'everyday hero' fics that are half-finished will have to wait until spring. Oops.


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